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- Вирджиния Вульф
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- Миссис Дэллоуэй
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- Стр. 72/96
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"
Ah
,
damn
!
"
she
cried
(
it
was
a
joke
of
theirs
,
her
swearing
)
,
the
needle
had
broken
.
Hat
,
child
,
Brighton
,
needle
.
She
built
it
up
;
first
one
thing
,
then
another
,
she
built
it
up
,
sewing
.
She
wanted
him
to
say
whether
by
moving
the
rose
she
had
improved
the
hat
.
She
sat
on
the
end
of
the
sofa
.
They
were
perfectly
happy
now
,
she
said
,
suddenly
,
putting
the
hat
down
.
For
she
could
say
anything
to
him
now
.
She
could
say
whatever
came
into
her
head
.
That
was
almost
the
first
thing
she
had
felt
about
him
,
that
night
in
the
café
when
he
had
come
in
with
his
English
friends
.
He
had
come
in
,
rather
shyly
,
looking
round
him
,
and
his
hat
had
fallen
when
he
hung
it
up
.
That
she
could
remember
.
She
knew
he
was
English
,
though
not
one
of
the
large
Englishmen
her
sister
admired
,
for
he
was
always
thin
;
but
he
had
a
beautiful
fresh
colour
;
and
with
his
big
nose
,
his
bright
eyes
,
his
way
of
sitting
a
little
hunched
made
her
think
,
she
had
often
told
him
,
of
a
young
hawk
,
that
first
evening
she
saw
him
,
when
they
were
playing
dominoes
,
and
he
had
come
in
--
of
a
young
hawk
;
but
with
her
he
was
always
very
gentle
.
She
had
never
seen
him
wild
or
drunk
,
only
suffering
sometimes
through
this
terrible
war
,
but
even
so
,
when
she
came
in
,
he
would
put
it
all
away
.
Anything
,
anything
in
the
whole
world
,
any
little
bother
with
her
work
,
anything
that
struck
her
to
say
she
would
tell
him
,
and
he
understood
at
once
.
Her
own
family
even
were
not
the
same
.
Being
older
than
she
was
and
being
so
clever
--
how
serious
he
was
,
wanting
her
to
read
Shakespeare
before
she
could
even
read
a
child
's
story
in
English
!
--
being
so
much
more
experienced
,
he
could
help
her
.
And
she
too
could
help
him
.
But
this
hat
now
.
And
then
(
it
was
getting
late
)
Sir
William
Bradshaw
.
She
held
her
hands
to
her
head
,
waiting
for
him
to
say
did
he
like
the
hat
or
not
,
and
as
she
sat
there
,
waiting
,
looking
down
,
he
could
feel
her
mind
,
like
a
bird
,
falling
from
branch
to
branch
,
and
always
alighting
,
quite
rightly
;
he
could
follow
her
mind
,
as
she
sat
there
in
one
of
those
loose
lax
poses
that
came
to
her
naturally
and
,
if
he
should
say
anything
,
at
once
she
smiled
,
like
a
bird
alighting
with
all
its
claws
firm
upon
the
bough
.
But
he
remembered
Bradshaw
said
,
"
The
people
we
are
most
fond
of
are
not
good
for
us
when
we
are
ill
.
"
Bradshaw
said
,
he
must
be
taught
to
rest
.
Bradshaw
said
they
must
be
separated
.
"
Must
,
"
"
must
,
"
why
"
must
"
?
What
power
had
Bradshaw
over
him
?
"
What
right
has
Bradshaw
to
say
'
must
'
to
me
?
"
he
demanded
.
"
It
is
because
you
talked
of
killing
yourself
,
"
said
Rezia
.
(
Mercifully
,
she
could
now
say
anything
to
Septimus
.
)
So
he
was
in
their
power
!
Holmes
and
Bradshaw
were
on
him
!
The
brute
with
the
red
nostrils
was
snuffing
into
every
secret
place
!
"
Must
"
it
could
say
!
Where
were
his
papers
?
the
things
he
had
written
?
